Genre: Medieval Folk Ballad / Tavern Epic / Dark Acoustic Fantasy
Mood Arc:
Low-burning tension → grim tavern humor → brutal honor → moral danger → hard-won victory → reflective return
Voice:
Single main vocal only.
Elder half-orc veteran. Deep baritone. Rough, gravel-thick, smoke-worn. Intimate storytelling as if seated at a wooden inn table. No choirs. No layered vocals. No modern harmonies. Vocal always dominant in mix.
Instrumentation:
Soft lute fingerpicking (primary melodic lead)
Hurdy-gurdy drone (constant low tension bed)
Frame drum heartbeat rhythm (subtle, earthy)
Low fiddle enters ONLY during duel and drake sequence
No cinematic swells. No modern percussion.
Music must sit under voice at all times.
Tempo Structure:
78 BPM storytelling verses
92 BPM lift during duel/drake
Return to 78 BPM reflective outro
Length: 4–5 minutes max
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Lyrics
[Verse 1 – Lantern & Orders]
We met beneath a dying moon,
Map spread thin in lantern light.
A scarred monk with winter eyes,
A young sworn blade not built for night.
A ranger quiet as frost on pine—
And orders clear as iron law:
“Find the orcs. Learn what they plan.”
That was all the town foresaw.
[Verse 2 – The Warning & Change]
An old grey wizard spoke it plain:
“You’ll wear their skin till work is through.
But mark me well — the more you act,
The more the beast acts back in you.”
Green fire cracked along our bones,
Teeth grew long where prayer once lay.
We stood as orcs beneath the dark—
And walked their road before first day.
[Verse 3 – The Hunt]
We left the roads and kept to grass,
Through forest breath and open plain.
We learned their tongue. We learned their laugh.
We learned the rhythm of their shame.
And after days of smoke and mud—
We saw their warband flame.
[Verse 4 – The Captive]
At center fire and drunken roar
A half-orc woman bound upright.
Bruised, but staring back at them
With more defiance than their might.
They spoke of selling her for gold.
The monk spat slow into the flame:
“Gold is soft. Let’s earn her proper.”
And pointed at the loudest name.
He did not know —
He’d marked their chief.
[Verse 5 – The Duel]
The circle formed in ash and heat.
Great axe rose like falling oak.
The monk wore cloth. No shield. No blade.
Just scar and fist and stubborn oath.
Steel bit bone. He did not fall.
Elbow. Knee. Head and breath.
Six hard strikes like hammer rain—
And silence crowned the chief with death.
The warband roared. Respect was won.
But respect can chain a man.
[Verse 6 – The Monster City]
They marched to walls of iron stone.
Plans of raids on farms and grain.
We learned their numbers. Learned their routes.
Freed the captives from their chains.
We stirred their ranks with careful lies.
Left before ambition grew.
The shaman’s whisper followed him—
Power offered. Rank in view.
He laughed it off.
But not too loud.
[Verse 7 – The Drake]
Then horns split night from broken hills.
Another warband. Wing and scale.
A drake-rider sniffed our hidden truth—
The hunt began. The sky turned pale.
Through ruined stone the beast flew low.
Too low.
The monk stepped once — and was not there.
Reappeared in open air.
Cast the rider down to earth—
Fell with him through fire and dirt.
Dust rose thick.
Twelve heartbeats passed.
When he stood—
The field was ours at last.
[Outro – Soft, reflective]
We walked the freed back home by dawn.
Gave the town the warband’s plan.
The spell wore thin. Our skins were ours.
But something stayed within the man.
Act like an orc long enough…
You learn their strength. You taste their pride.
The trick is knowing when to leave—
Before that pride decides to ride.
